


La Luce

by Liravell



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Antonio Salieri, Colours, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, References to Depression, Say Hello To My Depression, Symbolism, Well - Freeform, What Is Going on in the Nero part?, Writing it was cheaper and more fun than a therapy, cause why the fuck not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 22:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14603067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liravell/pseuds/Liravell
Summary: Antonio Salieri always felt like a shadow, nothing more. Maybe that's why Mozart fascinated him - the boy constantly walked with surrounded by a shiny halo. One day the light of Salieri's soul decided to split.aka a long, tiring day of Antonio Salieri's life





	La Luce

_Nero._ His eyes were clenched in frustration. Salieri just wanted to sleep, to escape tormenting thoughts that pierced through him like needles. Yet he couldn’t. His eyes snapped open. Fatigue mixed with frustration and panic like an invisible force made his whole body hurl in pain. Though, that pain did not come from his body. It came from his mind.  He wanted to scream but he couldn’t, the cry stuck in his throat. Unwittingly, he felt nails digging into his skin, leaving long, red scratches on his hands. Arms. Neck. A futile attempt to give the ache inside of him a physical form. He felt as if under his skin, inside his numb body there was something that he should reveal. Tears started to well up in his eyes. His skin got hotter and his breath became quicker.

In a split second he got out of his bed and a moment later he stood in front of a wide opened window. Drops of Vianesse rain hit his almost fervently warm skin. He did not care. Salieri had lost this battle too many times, he knew the ending too well. He had to calm down. Forcing himself to take slow, even breaths he focused on the incredible smell of the night air and the scent of rain. The still view of Vienna’s streets covered in darkness with only a few lonely halos of light given by street lamps has always enchanted him. He spotted a silhouette of an ebony carriage, so dark it was almost invisible in the night. Salieri didn’t even want to imagine where it was going at this hour. When the clatter of horses’ hooves stopped echoing and the street was empty once again he smiled faintly. He could feel the wet drops under his eyes. Rain. Or tears. It did not matter. The composer let go of the windowsill that he clenched too tightly, and sat in a red armchair. Despite the bad weather he purposely did not close the casement. He wanted to feel the wind and the chill. After all, he was hoping for a morning storm.

 _Viola._ Maybe he fell asleep or maybe he was just deep in thought, but when Da Ponte entered his bedroom Salieri felt a pang of surprise and for a second or two wondered if Lorenzo wasn’t a dream. The man stood before him dressed in a plain, mulberry outfit that made his body even slimmer. His brown hair, shining in the dim light of the room, was tied with an amethyst ribbon. His ribbon. Salieri caught a glimpse of the librettist's lips, but when their eyes met he was instantly sure that this was not a dream. In a dream, Lorenzo Da Ponte certainly would not give him that judging look, analyzing his friend’s features, looking for a sign of what happened or how he felt.

‘You should be ready. We have a rehearsal in an hour.’ He threw a bouquet of lavender on the coffee table.

‘Do we?’ Salieri’s voice was bitter and every word gave out how tired he was. Slowly he stood up, his body still felt burned out and delicate as if a quick movement could bring back the… the state from the last night. Emotionally he felt numb. He made his way to the closet and got rid of his shirt, ready to quickly change into a proper outfit for the rehearsal. ‘Aren’t you going to leave?’

The question was filled with irritation, but Lorenzo felt the curiosity hidden in it, so when Salieri looked behind, finding his friend sitting comfortably in his place, he just rolled his eyes with a sigh.

‘Just get dressed.’

Moments later they were in a carriage. Lorenzo was telling the story of the bouquet he found under Salieri’s door, speculating who might have sent them and describing the strange rune with which they were signed. Antonio just looked outside the window. He saw pavement covered in rain, cafes that provided shelter for the unlucky pedestrians and stormy clouds... that gained a lilac shade thanks to the light of dawn.

 _Blu._ The rehearsal was really unnecessary. Caterina knew her part well. So did the other singers. Normally he would probably overflow with frustration, but not today. Today he just observed. His eyes rediscovered the teal decorations that represented the sea, the cobalt shade of Aloysia’s dress… He could finally rest as his thoughts were drowned out by music. The notes that, during weeks of forced cooperation, were designed by him and Mozart. As soon as the symphony would end his torment would begin again, but in that moment he found calm. That moment was his.

 _Verde._ If there was one, most irritating thing about Count Rosenberg then it was the fact that he was useful. He had friends, connections and he liked Salieri, which was helpful since they worked together. Truly, unfortunate since if not those things Salieri would end their acquaintance long ago. As they strolled through the park he was condemned to listen to the infinite babbling of the smaller man. Ignoring the lies that probably were supposed to calm his envy and tales of what outrageous thing Mozart did, he shifted his attention to the malachite trees and sunlight that left celadon reflections on their leaves. When they passed a young couple, the woman dressed in emeralds recognized them and stopped to greet them.

‘Herr Rosenberg, Herr Salieri…’ She curtsied and her companion bowed politely. By that time Salieri was sure that the woman was some kind of Rosenberg’s friend. She fluttered her lashes at Salieri with a not-so-innocent blush as she introduced herself as a contralto.

‘Ah, another excellent singer of Vienna…’ Salieri managed to smile. She was definitely more interesting than Rosenberg. And prettier.

‘I’ve heard a lot about your work, maestro.’ Despite her suggestive voice, the woman’s partner remained oblivious, smiling at Salieri and Rosenberg like a puppet. ‘I would love to sing under you, one day.’

Hearing the bold suggestion, Antonio couldn’t suppress a sharp, deep chuckle.

‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’ his lips widened in a grin. It was definitely more interesting pastime than Rosenberg’s tea parties.

With a quick, forced smile as a goodbye, Rosenberg continued his walk. The composer stayed behind giving the woman one last amused look before the count had noticed he didn’t follow him.‘Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.’ Antonio rolled his eyes at the sound of Rosenberg’s voice. Always cutting in when things get interesting. ‘My friend, Salieri, I’m afraid this will have to wait. We still haven’t discussed our Mozart… problem. Right?’

‘Salieri, are you coming? Salieri!’ The call shot through the air attracting attention of some passersby and forcing Antonio to join this spiteful monotony once again.

 _Giallo._ Walking down the corridors of the palace was somehow calming. As he walked through the palace he was rhythmically stepping in the pools of sunlight that soaked lazily through the ornamented windows. He felt the music-filled sheets in his hand. Antonio knew those daffodil pages well. He spent so much time filling them with notes, perfecting every sound, trying to reach the true beauty.

In a few moments, he was seated in front of a piano, presenting an excerpt from the newest opera to the emperor. With every chord his fingers touched everyone in the room was becoming even more compelled. When he stopped playing the only thing moving in the room were two Habsburg’s canaries, kept in the cage just for their talent. No one else dared to even breathe until the emperor let out a shout of joy.

‘Wonderful! Truly, wonderful! I’d love to see the whole piece on stage!’

Soon Antonio was surrounded by promises, offers, congratulations, and nods of appreciation. Yet when Mozart entered the room the court’s focus shifted quickly. Salieri looked at him. Mozart’s eyes were filled with joyful sparks. His messy hair in the color of goldenrods, somewhere between brown and blond. The crowd parted as he made his way to the piano.

‘Maestro Salieri. I’m sorry for being late.’ he gave Antonio a sheepish smile. ‘Would you mind presenting your music once more? I’m sure everyone would love to listen again and…’

Salieri caressed the keys, his fingers smoothing them as softly as if they were lovers touching each other’s skin. He stood up looking into Wolfgang’s eyes surrounded by gold.

‘I’m sorry, Mozart. Though, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of occasions to listen to my music some time.’ Filled with a feeling he did not quite understand Antonio left his beloved instrument alone. Left Mozart. When the cheerful notes of Overture reached Salieri on his way out he wasn’t able to decide if he felt surprise or an irrational feeling of betrayal.

 _Arancione._ The music and gossip filled the air. Salieri wasn’t even sure why he attended one of those balls that he found no joy in. While his hands played with a spoon dipped in chocolate, his eyes carefully traced a silhouette in the crowd. Once or two he lost him among the ladies’ dresses, yet not for long. Wolfgang was certainly standing out. His makeup, his hair, even his extravagant clothes were shining in the candlelight. Mozart had his own halo made of light. Like a saint. Or an angel.

‘Maestro?’ he heard a familiar voice.

When he turned around he saw a woman, the young contralto he met that day. She had a fiery, provoking dress ornamented with shining crystals, that brought to mind a picture of a phoenix. Her ginger hair was carefully pinned up and decorated with tea roses. She was a rare beauty.

‘Forgive me my boldness, but do you have any activities to look forward to or are you planning to spend your night here?’

‘I’m not sure, madame…’ He nervously looked back at the crowd, relaxing when he still saw him dancing. She looked in the same direction and let out a chuckle.

‘I see, Herr Salieri… Maybe another evening, then.’ she smiled seductively and left. Was she clever or was he just so obvious? She was right tough. He couldn’t spend his whole night here.

 _Rosso._ The ball was slowly ending, the biggest groups of guests were already leaving. As he walked through the crowd he did not know what he felt. The emotions clashed inside him. Anger, embarrassment, frustration. Desire, admiration, longing. Antonio wasn’t even sure where was he going. Was he trying to reach the exit? Was he trying to reach Mozart? He knew only one thing - he was about to do something foolish, maybe even tragic. Salieri felt, knowing this feeling too well, that this day could end only in scarlet. Scarlet of Mozart’s lips. Or scarlet of his own blood.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank my lovely beta and everyone who helped me survive this week
> 
> This has 1789 words. Coincidence? I think not.


End file.
